


People and songs and the dangers of searching the internet at random

by NuMo



Category: Warehouse 13
Genre: Gen, somehowbutnotquite a songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-18
Updated: 2012-11-18
Packaged: 2017-11-18 23:23:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/566431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NuMo/pseuds/NuMo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You refuse to consider what Leena’s song might be; she started it, after all, going on about auras and how people look like this or like that and getting you to think which song would fit each of your friends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	People and songs and the dangers of searching the internet at random

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my first WH13 fic. I've read terrific stuff here, stuff I know I can never come even close to, so I was pretty certain that I shouldn't even try. 
> 
> But then I heard [Ravel's Bolero](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=djClkZIRf_4) and a plot bunny sank its charming little bunny teeth into my brain and here we are.
> 
> This piece is set sometime after the episode 'Where and When'.

You refuse to consider what Leena’s song might be; she started it, after all, going on about auras and how people look like this or like that and getting you to think which song would fit each of your friends. 

Artie is an old bumbling folk melody, snarling and growling and not-quite-biting, maybe the grandfather in Peter and the Wolf or something. Definitely something with a bassoon in it. Yeah.

Pete’s is a children’s song, one of the sort you know by heart and feel comfortable with for ages before you suddenly realize there’s much, _much_ more depth to it than you’d thought.

You’re not sure about Myka, it needs to be something… not slow. Myka isn’t slow, jeez no. Meticulous, that’s a good word, and hey, just because you don’t use words like that usually doesn’t mean you don’t know ‘em, right? Anyway, whichever song it’s gonna be, it needs lots of changes of tempo; Myka does that. And lightness; Myka’s laughter needs to be in there, oh how it needs to be in there. Myka’s laughter should be in everything.

And then there’s H.G.. You’re briefly tempted to just take your favorite piece of music ever and say it’s hers, but a) you don’t have _a_ favorite piece of music and b) you’ve come to realize that H.G. Wells is not that easy to get your head around.

And then you lounge about one day, idly browsing online shops to see how secure their servers are and a word catches your attention and you google it because you’d always wondered just what kind of thing a bolero is and who in all seven circles of tea party hell even wears that kind of thing and the browser, remembering your previous searches, spits out a piece of music instead and it somehow burrows into your mind and about three minutes into the song you know it’s not gonna end well. Once you’ve sat through it, though, you know there won’t ever be any song that’s more _her_.

The piece needs patience; you don’t quite get everything about it the first time round, you have to hear it and rehear it and the more you hear it, the more it just screams and screams and fits like a goddamn _glove_.

It’s inexorable and yeah: haunting, and more-than-slightly seductive, and you don’t, _really_ don’t want to go there, but you still can’t stop replaying it, it’s like a goddamn train wreck in audio and it’s way too long and you wish it would be over sooner, you really do, if only for the snare player’s sake, but, like, it also really _needs_ to be that torturously long because that makes it what it is. You read that someone had shouted ‘madness’ at the piece’s premiere and, fuck yeah, dude. But madness has never sounded so brilliant, right?

The theme winds ever down, but it doesn’t stay there, the composer never gives it a fucking moment’s rest. No, he goes on and on, against even the blessed music’s will; you can hear the melody protest each time the composer decides that yes indeedy, here comes another repetition. And just when you think it’s never gonna end, much less end well, suddenly there’s a change that kinda jars you out of that goddamn _hypnosis_ , the theme _stumbles_ and you with it, and then there’s this _desperate_ attempt to get things back in something resembling the order of before and the hair rises on your arms and neck and you think that maybe, just maybe– 

And then the orchestra explodes in agony und the end is there and over way too quickly.


End file.
